


Holding Steady

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Extended Scene, Gen, Unreliable Narrator, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: Mercia had never turned from Vortigern, nor once attempted to stand in his way.  Until today.





	Holding Steady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



> All that loyalty, and then no reaction after the attempted assassination scene ... why?

When Vortigern had taken the throne from his brother, the Pendragon name had held but one kingship among many; the barbarians had threatened to overwhelm them, ship after ship landing warriors on England's shores; and the mages had refused to drive them back into the sea, restricting their aid to mere words and pretty tricks. Under _his_ reign, those many kingdoms had been united, their rulers become mere barons in Vortigern's court; a deal had been made with the barbarians, to both his profit and theirs; and he'd taken the mages' power for his own. Or would, once his tower was complete.

And through all of those conquests, Mercia had been beside him. The first blood of the old families to kneel in his name, since they were both younger brothers shunted aside by their fathers. The most loyal and competent of all his advisors; the ultimate authority for the Blacklegs that kept order among the people in his name. Mercia had never turned from Vortigern, nor once attempted to stand in his way.

Until today. In his nephew's name, no less. In the _born king's_ name.

"My king," Mercia said sternly, hand wrapped around Vortigern's wrist. " _Carefully_."

 _Carefully?_ Mercia should have taken his own advice. He must know what he was invoking; he'd been at the castle the day Excalibur had revealed its power. _Hold the crown_ , Uther had told Vortigern, gripping his arm in just that manner; _hold it steady_ , he'd added... and then turned and walked away.

Another pair of intent eyes, demanding something of him. Another voice implying that if the order was not given, he would surely fail. Two decades ago, Uther's gaze had felt like censure, as though his brother could read every treasonous thought passing through his mind; Mercia's now felt like _judgment_ , one more pinprick in a veritable arrow storm since the river had retreated and the Sword had shown itself at last.

The Syrens had assured him that victory would soon come; but until that moment came, he was still vulnerable. Not only to the brothel brat in the dungeon, but also to knives in the dark, disguised as friends.

Vortigern's arm throbbed in Mercia's grip as old memories twined with new. Then his oldest friend let go... and turned to walk away.

His eyes felt dry, and it seemed wrong that it should be so. Surely so significant a loss should pain him as greatly as others of days past? But no; this went beyond mere personal betrayal. If Mercia balked _now_ , when Vortigern's triumph was finally at hand, what else might he interfere with? Was it truly a coincidence then, his men caught taking Arthur's money? Vortigern set his jaw, then picked up the pouch of coins Mercia had brought and headed for the cells, mind's eye slipping between two faces once more.

Let their own industry condemn them, if they could find no better explanation. 

Then let them fall, and so add to the reverence of Vortigern's name.


End file.
